


Diamond City Depravity: Polly

by masseylass



Series: Diamond City Depravity [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, F/M, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Humor, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Light Sadism, Oral Sex, Painplay, Regret, Sexual Humor, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 09:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Unable to cook anything that doesn't taste like it crawled out of a Diamond City sewer, Nate hits up Polly for culinary advice. But Polly cooks up something a little different for drunk, horny Nate. (It's still Kinktober, and I'm not done yet you crazies!)





	Diamond City Depravity: Polly

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 3 of my terrible series. If you'd like to see what Nate does to Myrna and Darcy, check out my other works in the series. If you're into gay Nate, check out my other works. Happy Kinktober!

Nick tucked the file away and closed the drawer. “Good work, partner. Another case put to rest.”

I replied with an obsequious smile. I was glad we solved the case, but it was still hard to look at him after what happened a month ago. In case you missed it, he walked in on me violating my living room furniture, moaning Myrna’s name (long story.) We locked eyes and didn’t talk for a week. I skipped town, too. Figured I’d be better off focusing on a quest or something. Rolled back into town and fucked pregnant Darcy Pembroke, in case you missed that too (another long story.) But finally, Nick and I could be in the same room again. Well, when I wasn’t obsessing over these things, in any case.

“You alright?”

“Yeah…yeah I’m fine.” I shook my head like I could shake my thoughts away. He didn’t look convinced.

“Well, if you say so. I’d better crack open our next case file. We on for breakfast tomorrow?”

“You mean watching me eat Power Noodles while you smoke? Wouldn’t miss it, Valentine.”

My partner tipped his hat and I returned to Home Plate. The night was mine. An hour later, I leaned over my stove, tapping my knuckles against my chin. Rock’n’roll played over the radio - - some Connie Allen song, Rocket 69 I think. Tatos: check. Wild corn: check. Carrots: check.

“So what am I forgetting?” I asked the half-drunken bottle of wine sitting on my kitchen counter. I thought for a long, long time, taking another swig and watching the bubbles in the pot. Then, it hit me. “Meat! Jesus Christ, I forgot meat!”

But I didn’t want to expend the effort to go out and buy meat; I wanted to sit around in my apron and beat it instead. And hey, what was stopping me? Nothin’. I plopped down on my couch, whipped out my dick, and went to town. 

A half an hour later and nothing. I couldn’t stop envisioning Nick from a month ago, walking in on me while I was occupied with my foxy, little, red couch. He was _horrified._ And don’t get me wrong, Nick was great and all, but he wasn’t exactly my type. He was a dude. A synth dude, with half a face. Besides, he kind of reminded me of my dad.

I grimaced and tucked myself back into my pants, washed my hands (yes, I’m depraved, but not _that_ depraved) and hopped on over to Polly’s. “Got any meat?”

She raised an eyebrow. “It’s called ‘Choice Cuts,’ princess, what do you think?”

“I’ll take a pound.”

“Of what?”

“Eh.” I lit up a smoke and inhaled. “Whatever’s cheap. Makin’ stew. All tastes like irradiated crap anyway.”

“You ain’t cookin’ it right.”

“Please. Like anyone in this god-forsaken hellhole knows how to cook.”

“For your information, I’m a great cook.”

“Yeah?” Yeah right, more like it.

“Yeah. I’ve got a life beyond sellin’ meat, you know. I do other shit. Like cooking. And poetry.”

I snickered. “Poetry? Jesus.”

“Hey, don’t you make fun of the arts. Now are you buyin’, or are you just here to flap your mouth and waste my time?”

“The latter. Everything here looks like roadkill.”

“It is roadkill, what’d you expect?”

“Something fresh.”

“It is fresh. Fresh roadkill.”

Fuck that noise. I wasn’t going to buy roadkill. I went back home and drank the rest of the bottle of wine, stirring my vegetable stew – which, I guess is called _soup_ come to think of it – and beat myself up over it once I took a taste. What I’d cooked was a sin.

“Fix this.” I slammed the bowl on Polly’s counter.

“Jeez, you still wearing that stupid apron? Ain’t even cute.”

“What would you know about being cute?”

Polly shrugged. “Iunno. I like cute shit. What’s that? Broth?”

“Stew. No, soup.”

“…”

“I don’t fucking know what it is, okay? Just…just taste it and tell me if it needs salt, or?”

Polly sniffed it, slurped it, and dumped it straight onto the ground.

“That was my dinner, you jerk…”

She snickered. “That wasn’t dinner. That was sludge, and I just did you a favor. Trust me.”

I was about to berate her when this wondrous smell erupted in my nostrils like some kind of delectable nirvana. My guts growled instantly. “Oh my god…what _is_ that? Do you smell that?”

“It’s roast brahmin.”

“Are you cooking that? That smell is coming from _your_ place?”

“I told you I cook. What? Didn’t believe me?”

“No!” I exclaimed. “I genuinely did not. The closest thing I’ve found to a chef is Takahashi and he just makes noodles. Pretty sure they’re instant and he just keeps a microwave in the back.”

“Well all my stuff is fresh and I cook it myself. Let me guess, you’re gonna ask me to share?”

“I mean I wasn’t, but I sure as shit am now that it’s an option!”

“Fine. Ain’t done though. Come back in an hour, got it?”

“Sure, sure. An hour. Got it.”

I went home and freshened up, and by that I mean I had a beer, brushed my teeth, and rinsed out my mouth with more beer. 

“Eh, that apron’s not so bad now that I think about it. Nice to see a man who at least tries to cook for himself.” Polly shut the door behind me while I scrambled to take the apron off. Guess I was so tipsy I forgot. “Leave it on,” she insisted. Okayyy…? Wasn’t bound to ask why, but it seemed like a small price to pay for some real food. I was starving.

Polly’s house was a studio with a kitchen over here, some shelves over there, a bed in the corner, and a small table. She had set the table with two plates, silverware, and even a couple candles to set the mood.

“Wow, romantic. Too bad I’m not a chick.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, slicing a big, delicious cut from the roast in the center of the table.

“What? Aren’t you a lesbian?”

She furrowed her brows. “No. Why, thought you finally found someone to talk shop with?”

My turn to furrow. “I’m not gay.”

“Oh. You aren’t?”

She stopped cutting. I stood awkwardly with my hands on the back of the chair. It was too quiet. I became aware of every little noise: the soft hum of Polly’s fridge, the scuttling of bugs in the walls, the crackling of the candle. Did the air just get a little heavier? 

We reached the silent conclusion that that dialogue never happened. She went back to cutting and I took a seat. A big, tasty slice of meat was dropped onto my plate. She did the same with hers, then proceeded to pour us each a glass of wine before taking a seat opposite myself.

“Wow, Polly, this is actually pretty nice.”

“It ain’t so bad to have company once in a while. Meat and wine don’t taste as good when you eat alone every night.”

“I get it,” I said, taking my fork and knife and getting down to business. I took a bite. “Holy shit…”

“Good?”

“You kidding me?” I chuckled with a mouthful of brahmin. “If you cooked instead of sold meat, you’d be rich.”

“Nah. I don’t mix business and pleasure. My cooking and my poetry ain’t for sale.” 

I didn’t even _want_ to know what kind of poetry Polly the butcher wrote. Then again, if it was half as good as her cooking, then maybe I was interested after all. For all I knew, she was the next Poe. 

“So why do _you_ eat alone?”

“Huh?” I asked with a face full of food.

“I said I don’t get a lotta company and you said you get it. So why?”

“Mm.” I held up my index finger, gesturing for her to give me a minute to chew and savor my dinner. Finally, I explained, “Closest friend I’ve got is Valentine, and he doesn’t eat.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Ain’t you with that reporter? The one who interviewed you about that vault you came from?

I choked on my wine, setting the glass onto the table with a little splash. “Piper?!” I laughed after a small fit of coughing. “God no! Kill me now…”

“Well you had a wife, right? Back in that vault?”

My smile faded. I swallowed hard before finishing off the rest of my wine in one swig.

“Sorry,” said Polly. “Here, lemme pour you some more.”

She did, for which I was grateful. “Thanks. Eh, what’s done is done. Been over a year since I was with Nora. She’s a frozen TV dinner, my son’s the asshole in charge of the Institute, and I’m just some guy from Diamond Shitty. Not fair, but there it is.”

Polly set the bottle back down. “You miss her?”

“Eh…” I took another long drink of wine before reaching my conclusion. “Yeah, I guess I do. We didn’t have the greatest relationship near the end. Once we had Shaun, she became cold and distant. We never had sex again. Before she was pregnant, she used to cook dinners like this.” I tittered, my brown eyes lazily focused on nothing. “She’d get all dolled up and set the table. We’d have red meat and wine just like this. I miss _that_ Nora.”

Next time I looked around the room, my head spun. I swear I could almost smell the old house, see Nora approach me wearing her apron – and _only_ her apron – licking her lips. I remember the way her dark hair would bob around her chin, the way the sweat from her hips would glisten in the lamplight once her apron crumpled around her ankles. Then, she’d kiss me, tasting like booze and cigarettes. She had this tiny waist and these soft, supple breasts, and my god, the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. She would crawl into my lap and fuck me better than anyone ever had. And then…she got pregnant. 

She stopped doing her makeup, stopped shopping for pretty clothes. I tried to be a patient and understanding husband. I picked up whatever she wanted from the store, told her she was still beautiful…but it was never enough. I wasn’t attractive to her anymore. ‘The hormones,’ ‘too hungry,’ ‘too tired,’ ‘I look like shit…’ always something different.

So then I yelled. And being Nora, she yelled back. We fought and fought, even while she was in labor. Things got better for a few weeks after we had Shaun, but Nora never really recovered. Almost a year later and still, nothing. Nothing except those messages she sent to her coworker that I found on her private terminal. And you know what? I didn’t even care anymore. Good for Nora. She wanted to get laid? Great. We were past our expiration date anyway. I knew we’d have to have a conversation about it, and it would probably end with the mutual agreement to get divorced, but then…

I dunno. She started to change. We hadn’t had sex yet, but when I was going to give my speech at the veteran’s hall, she actually got dolled up, told me that afterward, we’d take the Corvega and park it where we used to when we wanted some alone time outside of the house. And she was serious. Maybe things were worth salvaging after all. Maybe. But then the world ended. And I never got the chance.

“Uh…” 

I glanced up at Polly and realized I was silently sobbing. Just…_sobbing_. And boy was I drunk. “Nora…” I mewled, like a little, baby kitten.

“Hey, man, uh…wow…this is awkward…”

_Sorry,_ I mouthed, but I couldn’t even talk anymore. I just slammed my elbows on the table and cried over my meat. I paused only to finish off my second glass of wine. “Sh-sh-shit th-that’s good w-w-wine…”

Polly set to work on clearing the table while I tried to pull myself together. By the time she had created a neat stack of dishes by the sink and wiped the table down, she returned. I was wiping my eyes with my apron.

“Oh, god…crying is exhausting.” I stood up from the chair. “Sorry, Polly. That was amazing. I should…I should get back…” 

I wobbled. Oof. The spins. Fun. Before I could reach my hand out to grab the chair, Polly caught me. Man, she was big; at least as tall and as heavy as I was, and I wasn’t exactly short or skinny. But damn if her heavy hips didn’t feel good. Wait, why was I touching her hips? This was Polly we were talking about. Seriously. Why was I feeling her up like that?

“Looks like you can use a pity fuck.”

“A…a pity fuck?”

“Sure. I pity you, so I’ll fuck you to make you feel better. Sound good?”

Uh, no. That would be degrading. First of all, Polly was huge. That’s emasculating. Secondly, I was sad about my dead wife. And third, THIS WAS POLLY, THE BUTCHER. Jesus Christ, I wasn’t gonna let Polly the butcher pity fuck me. What kind of sadistic shit - 

“So good…I wanna fuck you so bad baby.”

God I hate myself.

“Good, princess. Let’s get those cute little pants off, huh?”

I nodded. “Yeah, my pants are adorable. They’re gonna be even more adorable on your dirty, dirty floor you sexy giantess.”

“Shut up, you’re hotter when you’re quiet.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

I wobbled to and fro as Polly struggled to get my boots off, followed by my pants. Next, she slipped the apron’s neck string over my head so she could yank off my shirt. There was a nice, big pile of clothes growing on her floor. She tossed the string back over my neck and brushed out the front of my apron. Those memories of Nora and the thought of getting laid were already getting me hot; had a decent apron-bulge doing on downtown. 

Polly slid her huge palm over it. I spread open my legs and leaned against the table, letting her work me through the apron. Jesus, her hands were big. Like a man’s. No wonder she was a good butcher with strong, hard hands like that. And now, they were stroking my dick until it started to ache under that apron. I was reduced to a sad, moaning mess within the span of a minute. 

Actually, wow, that handjob was getting to be a bit much…and she hadn’t even gotten past my clothes yet. Damn. Polly was really talented. Something about the way she twisted her palm like that, slipped her fingers against my taint and worked me just…

“Whoa, slow down!”

“Too good, huh?”

I gave a brisk nod. My mouth was getting dry. “Yeah, actually.” I inhaled sharply.

“Did Nora ever give you attention that good?”

My stomach twisted. I didn’t know what to say. What an awful, fucking thing to ask. And yet, the answer was still…

“No…”

“Well wait until you see what I can do with my mouth, beautiful.” 

Her head disappeared under the apron. “Oh my god…” I breathed, watching her oily, blonde hair vanish out of sight. Then, the single, greatest sensation I had ever felt happened. Polly wrapped her massive arms around my thighs, smacked her palms against my ass, pulled me close, and sheathed me inside of her hot mouth. And oh…my…god. That mouth was even better than her roast, which was the best thing ever so, yeah, it was that good.

“Yeahhh baby fuck my cock with your mouth,” I said, before realizing I inadvertently stole that line from one of those X-rated holotapes I kept hidden under my pillow. To my surprise, Polly stopped sucking my dick long enough to say,

“That’s from Ghouls Gone Wild XII, be more original.”

I was about to ask one of a million questions that sprang to mind regarding that statement when she slapped me so hard on the ass that I yelped. Before I could tell her to knock it off, she claimed my cock again. My stomach twisted a second time, in a much more pleasing way, and I tried to rock my hips. She was so good that I was squirming, watching the bulge of her head under my apron bob as she sucked me using that flat, hot tongue, and took me way, way, _way_ back into her throat.

One second, her lips were at my tip and the next, I was screwing her esophagus. It was incredible the way she blew me like that without any teeth or anything. I was in heaven.

“Fuck I’m gonna –”

SLAP! Another palm right to the ass. I jerked forward with a moan, sticking my cock further down her throat in order to escape her angry hand. That hurt! That really, really hurt! But ohhhmygod my dick felt good. 

That slap snapped me out of my pre-orgasm frenzy long enough to give her mouth another couple of pumps. But this time, Polly did the unthinkable. She used her strong arms, and her strong neck, to hoist me up onto her face. That’s right. I was actually sitting on her face with my cock crammed down her throat. And it was really, really awkward. 

I kept feeling like I was going to snap her neck in half. I kept reaching my toes toward the ground, but she was so strong that I couldn’t really move. I gently rocked my hips forward. Polly didn’t even gag. It was actually amazing: that hot, wet throat of hers clamped down on me so blissfully that I was getting worked up again. 

She squeezed around me and moaned. That made me moan, and when I moaned, I lost my balance and toppled forward. Remember those shelves I told you about? I collided with one of those, head first. I kind of blacked out for a minute. I know there was loud crashing, but that’s about it. When I opened my eyes, Polly was rolling me onto my back.

“You okay, man? You’re bleeding.”

“Hngh?” I brought my hand up to my forehead. Oh, yeah. That was blood. A lot of blood. And there were boxes of Sugar Bombs and Fancy Lad Snack Cakes everywhere. And me? I was twisted like a pretzel in that open, metal shelf. How did I even manage that?

“Still horny?”

I nodded.

“Cool. Why don’t we move to the bed?”

She reached a hand out and hoisted me to my feet. My head swam. A bottle of wine, a beer, two more glasses of wine and a concussion. “Urk…”

“What?”

“Need a trashcan…”

Somehow, through my blurred vision, I saw one over by the fridge. There! If I could just get over there, then maybe I wouldn’t humiliate myself in front of my lady suitor. Suitress? Eh.

I stepped forward and immediately tripped over the same damned shelf. I stuck my arms out to catch myself. Instead, I caught the edge of the table and pulled _that_ down on top of me. And _that_ caused a kind of catapult effect, shooting two, hot candles right toward my bare ass. Hot wax dripped down my buttcrack with fiery vengeance. 

“FUUUU-UUU-UUUUCKING SHIT!”

Somehow, _somehow_, I managed to pull myself to my feet. 

“Still need that trashcan?”

“No!” I wailed. Somehow, my anger trumped my nausea. I stomped over to the bed and sat down in a huff, staring over the wreckage I’d created. “Jeez, reminds me of the fights I used to have with Nora…”

“Why? She throw candles at your ass?” Polly smirked.

“Uh, no…no she did not. We gonna fuck or what?”

“Bend over.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, princess. Bend over. Polly’s gonna take good care of ya. Might feel a little sting tomorrow, though. Heh heh heh.”

Why I actually bent over was anyone’s guess. I suppose I was really that desperate. My dick was half-flaccid now, and I felt like abandoning it was wrong. I already abandoned my wife and son; wasn’t about to do the same to Lil’ Nate. He deserved better. I sighed and turned around, knees of the floor and belly on the mattress.

There was a lot of shuffling behind me. Drawers opening. Metal clanging. That sort of thing. Then, heavy footsteps. Polly got onto her knees behind me. I could hear clothes slipping off. Mmm…liked that. Wonder what she looked like naked. I peeked over my shoulder. Wow, she was very…square.

Seriously, it was like looking at a geometric painting. She had square hips, thick thighs, a broad chest, and tits that were a little far apart. I mean, she didn’t look un-womanly, she was just very, very…husky.

Whatever doubts I had were erased when she reached around and grabbed my dick, jerking me off into the mattress. God, even her hand jobs were amazing. I wondered what else she had done to that poor mattress. It was probably filthy. I mean, the idea of a big, sweaty butcher lady getting down and dirty with herself on that mattress…

Wait why was that hot?

“Mmmgh!” I grunted, and moved my hips in tandem with the thrusts of her giant fist. 

Soon, she was moving faster, harder, desperate to work me up. Damn. Where did she practice at? Who did she practice on? She was goooood. I licked my lips and groaned. “Fuck, right there, right there, I’m gonna – AHHHH SHIT WHAT WAS THAT?!” My ass was on fire. Red, hot fire. 

“Serrated barbeque tongs.”

“WHY?!”

She gave my dick another wonderful pump and I bit my lip. “Ohhh…”

“Why not? Life is short.” THWACK!

“AHHH FUCK POLLY YOU BITCH!”

THWACK! Another pump, and another, and another…

I was right on the edge. Then I wasn’t. Then I was. Then I wasn’t. Then I was groaning. Then I was being hit. And every single time it stung worse than the last: one vicious blow after another until each one made my stomach lurch. At first it was exciting. Then, it was just making my dinner want to come back up. 

“Stop, stop…” I panted, and she did. I flung my hand over my mouth and then shoved all of that into the bed. I couldn’t breathe, but eh, couldn’t really breathe after that number she did on my ass anyway. 

Polly’s heavy hand settled on my back. “Catch your breath,” she said, and gave me a few big, comforting strokes. I tilted my head to the side to snag some air. It felt really nice. I closed my eyes and breathed through my nostrils and out of my mouth. Polly pet me, teasing my hair, running her fingers down my back, and finally massaging my sore, little ass. 

Then, I heard her spit. My eyes opened. Why were my asscheeks being spread?

“Never had your prostate rubbed before, have you?”

“Uh, no. No I most certainly have not.”

“Try it, you’ll like it.”

“Polly…”

“Remember what you said about my cooking?”

“…” 

She had me there, and fortunately for her, I was just sick enough to agree. I nodded and closed my eyes. A moment later and I felt like I had to shit. Two, hefty sausage fingers were crammed up my afraid little asshole. I moaned. It wasn’t a good moan. It was the kind of moan I made when Valentine told me there was a wrench in our case; the kind I made when I forgot to buy meat for the stew; the kind I made whenever I looked at myself in the mirror.

But then, my eyes flung open. She touched me in just the right place. It was like flicking a switch. “Oh…” I actually squirmed, dick pressed upright against the mattress. Oh, damn, that friction felt good. 

She worked that sensitive, little spot inside of me until my vision was spinning again. God, I was so nauseous, but I was getting really horny again too. What was even happening? What was I doing? Why was this making me so hard, kneeling there in that apron while the butcher fucked my butthole with her creepy meat fingers? 

I rubbed my dick against the old, dirty mattress, reduced to a series of drunk moans and mewls that were so degrading I could have died. What I did instead was,

“-come, I’m gonna come!” 

One more flick of her fingers and I clenched around them, unloading all over her bed, my belly, and the floor, moaning and groaning “fuck me Nora!” until I was completely spent. Man, I needed counseling.

The next five minutes were spent in Polly’s arms. She stroked my hair and told me I was pretty. She smelled like beef. I wanted to die.

Afterward, I gave some obsequious head. (I mean, I wasn’t gonna leave her hanging; I’m not a monster.) I kept getting dirty blonde hairs stuck in my mouth though and they were making me gag. I resorted to fingering her instead. She made a couple of noises – equally as compliant as my aforementioned head – before she told me to just stop so she could do it herself. 

I watched her hump her pillow as I put my clothes back on, then sat down. My dinner was not sitting right. Not sure if it was the fuckton of alcohol I drank, the split in my head, or being hit repeatedly with grilling equipment. I could feel the tiredness tug at my eyes as I watched her jerk once or twice and finish on her bed. 

I thought that was it. She’d put her clothes on, and I’d go home and try not to be sick. But instead, she walked over to her terminal, entered a password, and said, “Wanna hear one of my poems?”

Fuuuuuuuuuck no.

“Sure.”

WHY, NATE?!

“Okay.” Polly cleared her raspy throat, hovering buck naked over her terminal. _ “I dance in the dark. No one can see me. Not even myself.”_ She paused. This long, dramatic pause that went on for ten seconds. _ “Just me and my body, floating free in the air. Sometimes, it’s joyous. Sometimes…_” Another pause. Ten…eleven…twelve…thirt _ “Sometimes, chair._”

…

_ “Oh, chair. I really should have moved you.”_

…

I clapped.

“I’m not done yet.”

“Oh. Sorry.” 

…

_ “Over there.” _

After five or six more poems, I saw myself out, apologizing for not making her come. She shrugged and said it was nice to have company for dinner. “Wann me ya help fix yer table tomorrow?” I slurred. She said no, it was fine, if I wanted to pay her back I could shop at her stand. I agreed and headed home.

I opened the door to Home Plate. Guess I left the lights on. Damn it. As soon as the door closed, I dropped my keys and clutched my stomach. “Not worth it, not worth it, so not worth it,” I groaned. Everything was spinning, tilting, shifting. Where did I leave my wastebasket? Over there? No. Oh fuck. The toilet? Did I even _have_ a toilet? No time to remember.

I rolled the weirdly heavy chair out of the way, opened up a desk drawer and retched until there was nothing left. Wow. These escapades were really getting out of hand. Suddenly, I felt something on my back. I gasped and spun around, falling onto my sore ass with a hiss.

“Easy, easy. Rough night?”

“Nick?!” I coughed and wiped my mouth. “How long’ve you been sitting there?!”

“Long enough to turn off your stove and save your house from burning down. So, who was the victim this time? Myrna again? Or maybe Darcy?”

I glowered. “Polly…”

“Speak up, partner. Couldn’t hear you past all that shame.”

“POLLY!”

“Well, at any rate, why don’t you clean up that blood, find some pants, and tend to your ass? We’ve got a case to solve tomorrow, remember?”

“I’m wearing pants.” I looked down. “I am not wearing pants.”

Nick gave me a swift pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you’re sobering up. Don’t forget to apologize to Polly tomorrow. She probably deserves it.”

Ice cold, Valentine. Ice cold. Damn it. I really needed to get out of Diamond City.


End file.
